


Sweetness

by fictionalthoughts



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Light Bondage, Reader-Insert, Shameless Smut, Smut, The Mandalorian smut, mandolorian/reader, the mandalorian/you - Freeform, use of blindfold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:47:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21644716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalthoughts/pseuds/fictionalthoughts
Summary: i had this idea that, when given the chance, my guy mando really enjoys going down on his girl. so! let’s all thirst for the hottie with a helmet on ;)2.6k words of pure filth*this fic can also be found on my tumblr @fictional-thoughts
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian/Reader
Comments: 19
Kudos: 344





	Sweetness

The early morning light is splayed over her body, dots of golden light sprinkles her skin and the light grey sheets of the bed, the thick and heavy comforter pulled back and forgotten it hangs from the edge of the bed.

The Mandalorian takes in the sight, his bare hands curved around her thighs, thumbing the soft skin in smooth circles. Without the helmet contouring his vision, he sees everything so clearly, the intimate details of her, the way her reddened lips part in soft sounds, her wrists crossed and twisting in the soft bounds he’d looped around only moments before, her soft hair against the worn pillow, the arches of her back, pushing her chest upwards as her body is moving without thought, only chasing the closeness he so promised her.

She’s so warm in his inexperienced hands, he’d never imagined anything to be as good as the way she felt under him. He’s had her before, but every time it feels brand new, opening a vault of hidden opportunities, slick and ready at his wanting.

The light turns as the morning drags on, splashing lines of light seen through the chipped windows of The Mandalorian’s Ship. His hands chase the warm light, pulling and feeling down upwards until they reach her breasts, she jumps at the contact, smiling softly as his large hands engulfe the softness of her breast.

“ _Please_ ,” she’s quiet, barley loud enough for him to hear. Her eyes are closed under the black silken fabric covering her eyes. Keeping the secret of who the Mandalorian really was. The identity unknown, all that runs through her veins in soul attraction to who he was as a person, not a Mandalorian, a Bounty Hunter, a killer… One who she trusted enough to have her in this way.

“Is this what you want?” He’s close to her ear, his warm breath tickiling her neck, his deep voice mixed with heavy breathing curling through the air, sending warm shocks of arsousl through her. She shudders, trangled up in the idea of him touching her just a _little_ more. The Mandalorians large hand is still on her breast, his palm running down, fingertips sinking into the soft flesh. “Talk to me,” he’s kissing her neck, slowly and messily, basking in the taste of her, the sounds of her soft voice, the creaking of the bonds; he _knows_ just how bad she wishes to touch him, to break from the bonds and feel him alive under her fingertips, to knot her hands in his thick hair, drag her nails in lines down the soldiers back, knives to a stone.

The ripping feeling of desperation is nearly killing her, he’s biting down on her shoulder and squeezing her chest and it’s all too much, she’s tugging on the restraints as her breathing speeds up; she’s sure he can hear her heart pounding. “Keep going,”

He catches her mouth in his own, their lips come together in bruising force of lips tongues and teeth clashing and he inhales deep through his nose as she nearly steals his breath away, her lips part and she licks into his own and he’s only able to stop himself from devouring her again and again. It’s all rotten candy and sickly sweet wine, she’s a whisper of what things in heaven should taste of. His hands never stop moving, mapping the plains of her body, an artists shaping the statue, he’s everywhere all at once, she chokes on a gasp as he tweaks one of her nipples before moving to taste her with his tongue. The warm wetness of his mouth over on her tit is pushing her closer to collapsing with heated arousal.

She figures she wouldn’t need the blindfold next time, her eyes are screwed shut and not going to open for a while as the shocks of pleasure leak through her system. She can feel his soft hair brushing her flesh, his teeth dragging and digging over her skin, the roughness of his face, his chapped lips, his calloused, battle worn hands; yet they hold her so gently. It’s a battle of fire and fire within her and in him as well. He’s worried he’s taking everything out on her, getting lost in her body to forget his life, the blood on his hands, shards of broken bones and echoes of screaming victims.

The Mandalorians helmet and gloves are off, those are the only parts of him bare to her, to match her exposed nakedness. The helmet is on its side on the floor, the visor staring at the two lovers, entrnagled within one another, sharing breath through bruising kisses and his hands moulding her skin to his touch.

“Mando…” she doesn’t know his name, know his past, she only knows sharp words and gunfire, the smell of blaster smoke and the feeling of fearing of her life. “Gods, you have to _touch_ me.”

He drags himself from her breasts and moves to cup her jaw in his large hand, pull her face closer to his, meet her swollen lips to his own. Short and damp are the kisses, slicked together with the rush of the risk. His knee keeping him upright is sinking the mattress, the hard metal plates of his amour are alien to her bare skin, and send shivers up her arching spine when the metal glides over her skin. Before tying her up, he’d slowly helped her remove her clothes, catching her lips with his own in between quickening moments of rushed passion. His adoration of her only grew when he realized she trusted him in such a way, to have her blinded, at his own mercy, a victim like no other.

He’s lathering her skin with marks and sensing out her sweet spots by following her patheticly sweet sounds, the soft sighs, hushed whimpers and moans of his name. His hand moves to push her thigh down, giving him room to settled between them, and he sees she’s so, so, _so_ wet. She’s hot and slick with arousal. Her body trembles as he rids some of his armour, freeing up his albilty to contort and lower himself to her centre, to begin what he so desperately wanted to do. He remembers tasting her on his tongue for the first time; under her careful instructions he had buried his head between her warm thighs, snug around his ears. His chin and lips were soaked in her dripping honey he had curled his mouth around her most sensitive spots, delved his warm tongue into the cleft of her cunt he dragged her up the hill to climax, all through her whines of estastic pleasure, soft orders and shrill moans.

He’s brought back to the moment when she speaks.

“I wanna feel you so bad,” she’s pleading, not caring to see him, but to break the man free of his chains and armour, to peel back his clothing and expose him fully to her wanting, to feel the contours of his muscles, hard and sinewy under his slicked skin, she wants to tear open what’s left of his humanity and use it for her pleasure and hers alone.

Before her, the Mandalorian never thought of sex, of holding one so close he could shatter them and piece them back together, to have one at total mercy, and for them to be _desperate_ for it. He’s moving by pure instinct, and had been each time he’s taken her before that. She’s been there for him, an open body for him to burrow into, bask in the warmth of her, to taste her, tear her apart, lick up the sweetness of her and rebuild her, all in the darkness of her own willingness.

“You trust me?” His voice is rough and slurred with his growing disire to have her. She’s nodding frantically and the Mandalorian is watching her, chest heaving. She, to him, is something else entirely, the Mandalorian is not so sure if he should fear the way she makes him feel. He would burn cities for her, destroy battleships, take a million live in cold blood is she told him to. It doesn’t cause him fear nor resentment, but utter amazement that she alone has chosen him.

“Please,” she’s saying again, her voice dipped in something so sweet he feels a skip in the pattern of his heartbeat. The Mandalorian sighs against her, inhaling shakily he looks up at her, peering through his lashes. “I dont, I don’t wanna see, I can’t bear to not _feel_ you.” Silence follows her voice, and she’s swallowing her fear that maybes she’s said too much, that he’ll stand up, leave her longing and pathetically desperate.

It’s the silence and the darkness that is around her, the uknown of the moment. She thinks that’s why she’s so aroused, so needful of something, _anything_ , to make something come to light. The bed creaks and there’s a shifting above her, his scent follows him, of metallic rust and smoke, of blood and dirt. It’s everything to not break from the bonds and pull him close.

She’s sure now that was line was crossed. That was the deal, was it not? To be bonded and unseeing, he could finally touch her. No matter the circumstance, he’s breaking the rules of his religion, his history, his culture. The Way, all of that along with everything his commander had burned into his mind was forgotten the moment you offered him your body, your soul.

Then there’s a short, rough tug of the strings above her and her wrists are free, she gasps softly in disbelief and before she can move Mandalorian is shifting downwards and lifting her hips to his mouth. His own eyes close as his mouth is slanted against her wet slick and honeyed skin, the soft petals of her sex under his lips, she’s crying out and her thighs are closing around his head, hips lifting to grind out as much movement as she could gather. _Finally_ he’s there, right at the place to begin to tug her crashing release closer, she’s panting, skin dotted with sweat as he goes down on her. She’s rushing to contain her breaths, and thinks for a moment that _damn_ she’s taught him so well.

“Stay still,” his large hands press down hard into her hips, forcing her to still. He’s following the softer movements of her body, circling his tongue around her bud he’s drinking all she has to offer.

She’s trying, but with her freed hands she immediately drops them to his head, gripped in her splayed fingers she pushing him closer to her soaked cunt, whining as he’d pull away to suck a short mark into the softness of her thigh. Her hand knots in his hair, and he finds himself groaning roughly into her when she tugs on it, fire looms within him, and he’s so _achingly_ hard and desperate to fuck her that the Mandalorian thinks he could come right then, her nails catch in his thick dark hair and pull as he sucks and licks her sweet cunt. She’s close, panting as her breath is picking up she’s so close.

She’s telling him how good he’s doing, how his hands feel digging into her waist, his unruly hair tangled in her hands only makes her want to come faster. She’s begging and repeating his name, the cunningly sweet nickname she’s called him this whole time she’s known him. “Mando! _Gods_ , slow down, I’m close —”

The Mandalorians not a talker, he’s assertive and straight to the point, he says what he needs to and no more than that. But now he’s sure he would be unable to string together a coherent sentence to tell her just how sweet she tastes, just how warm she was against his lips, how her hands in his hair and hips arching into his hands makes him nearly explode. The Mandalorian is too far gone to stop, he’d rather an aching jaw than you feel unwanted and forgotten about. He thinks of her in the darkness of the blindfold, and realizes just how lucky he really is. She is open and exposed to him, and willingly so if he could only allow her to see, it would make the whole thing so much better.

“You’re so — _mmh_ ,” he’s caught up in focusing on her hot and swollen bud, he wants to say beautiful, he’s never said the words aloud but all he can think to say is how fucking sweet you are against his lips, melted candy and ripely tang he’s sure she’s the best thing he’s tasted. Sucking and smoothing over with his tongue shes seconds away from bursting under him. He reaches his right hand to grip one of hers and she’s nearly sobbing as the feeling of hot pressure spreads through her anatomy.

She grips his hand, fingers linked with his own and squeezing as if she’s pulling the trigger. Her thighs tremble and tighten, it’s a burning coil strung so tight and hot, he’s only done this so many times she’s wondering just how bad it is that she’s so attracted to the Mandalorian that he can pull her to coming within minutes of only using his touch. She’s blind to him but not unfeeling.

“You’re almost there,” he’s not stopping, the seeping, white hotness of his own arousal is nearly controlling every once of his movement, he’s hard as goddamn marble and only thinks of how soft and warm she is around him. He’s licking and circling her faster and faster, closing his lips around her softness, her sweeetness dripping from his chin he is pulling her closer and closer. Her backs arching, knees drawing up and nearly suffocating the Mandalorian, pressing him as close as she can. She’s absolutely soaked and it’s only getting tighter, the coils about to break and he’s takes one last suck, swipe of his tongue and movement of his head under her hands she falls apart under him.

She’s choking on moans as waves of climatic bliss are sent throughout her body as if it were lightning on a seastorm, the burning wildfire of orgasmic endings and painful spasms of her muscles contrapt her within herself. She’s hot all over and her thighs are shaking terribly. Her body is ruined and numb in the aftermath of such a surge of sudden pleasure. The Mandalorian utters soft moans as he relaxes further into the bed, into her; sinking past her shaking limbs he drinks as if he had never had such a thing. Her breasts rise and fall in line with her heavy breathing, lips still reddened she gnaws on the bottom one, her mind still slack with pleasure.

She lets go of his hand to cart her fingers through his hair, he’s pushing himself up and onto her, wary of his beskar armour digging into her sensitive skin.

“Are you alright?” His bare hand slides over her face, lines her jaw and trails over her cheekbone. His fingertips graze over the blindfold. Would it really hurt to pull off the mask? To reveal himself to one who has just exposed her most intimate self? She lazily turns her head to stare at him, he imagines her without the blindfold, soft starlike eyes, he would kiss you in the middle of your forehead, feel your lashes flutter against his skin.

“I’m more than alright, Mando,” she’s pulling him close to capture his lips with her own, soft and gentle, she tastes herself on him and smiles. “We should use the blindfold more often.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! this was pure thirst and i have no shame
> 
> feedback is much appreciated!


End file.
